Page 5 of Collin, Episodes 13-15 (The Residency Boys #5)

“Why do we as humans tell fantasy stories? It’s because fantasy stories as a genre are honest. Fucked-up landscapes, visible demons, big scary monsters, beautiful loves everyone wants, plain little people who are ignored until they do something.

Prophecies of hope and doom. Fantasy is us but more raw, more vivid.

It’s where we can deal, as a species, with what we try to ignore in real life.

Normal is the facade of expected and plain, the safe and predictable—maybe—that we wrap ourselves in as a society for a variety of reasons.

It’s probably one of the least honest things that can be found.

But many people cling to it because looking past it in their own lives and the lives of those close to them is too scary.

But if we believed that we were heroes or adventurers, if we had the resources of a fantasy-game character, if we believed in magic, then we could deal. I believe in magic.”

Collin opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Magic?”

“Yes.” Broderic nodded. “Have you ever seen Lord of the Rings ?”

“Yes.”

“Beautiful story. It works really well. There’s lot of magic in that story. But it’s mostly human magic, not magic magic. The hobbits are the best part. When Frodo is walking into Mordor, he has his friend with him—his best friend—right?”

“Sam, yeah. He makes potatoes.”

“Yes. Sam the gardener. Very ordinary man, er, hobbit. Frodo has this really heavy burden, and he’s getting sicker and sicker, right?”

“Yeah. The ring.”

“The ring is really evil. It’s whispering a certain kind of story and offering a certain kind of temptation. We could find any number of current, real-world placeholders for the ring. And Frodo is breaking down.”

“Sam carries him.”

Broderic’s face broke open in a smile. “Yes, he does. And that’s the fantasy. That’s the beauty. That’s the human magic. Because it’s highly accessible magic. It’s magic that can and does happen, in our world, today.”

“Like Mr. Reevesworth finding me on the floor.”

“Precisely. Now, if Frodo was sitting in your seat right now, he could look at me and tell me some really terrible things. He could tell me that he thought about killing his best friend when that ring was around his neck. He could tell me that he left friends behind to protect them but one of them still died. He could tell me that the world was going to fall apart if he failed and that he failed. He could tell me that once he got home that he was never able to be himself again. He could talk about orcs and being captured by spiders and having his will taken from him by the ring on Mount Doom. Terrible things. It wouldn’t shock me.

He’d be safe to talk here. I wouldn’t run.

I wouldn’t look at him in horror. And I’d still be fine when I went home and went to bed. ”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t play in normal, Collin. And I don’t live normal. I live human. And I believe in humans. So yes, you can tell me anything. Tell me if there were days when you wished your mom would give up and die. Tell me that you’re pissed at your dad for being gone.”

“I could tell you that I expect my grandfather to kill me?”

“Yes, you could tell me that.”

“That there are times when I want to be émeric’s kitten and never be a man again?”

“Yes, you could tell me that.”

“I could tell you that chains feel comforting and I’m glad they’re rich and I never want to be poor again even though that makes me a terrible person?”

“Yes.”

Collin slumped forward, forearm on his knees. “Okay, then. I want to be here because I want a story I can tell myself where I’m not a terrible person.”

“And if you actually are a terrible person?” Broderick smiled.

“That’s a matter of perspective, right?” Collin smiled back.

“I mean, I already know I’m the villain in at least one person’s story.

But I’m not the villain in émeric’s story, or Richard, or my sister’s.

I want to feel like the person they tell me they see.

The person I see myself as in their eyes.

I need that story to be louder than the others. ”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Wednesday morning at six thirty, Collin, still yawning, followed Mr. Moreau down to the gym. A brown-skinned man in a turban met them. He held out his hand and clasped Collin’s palm in both of his. “Collin, it’s good to meet you.”

“Collin, this is Nihal. I’ve trained with him at points. He’s one of the most skilled trainers in the city.”

Nihal’s face burst with gratification. “I’m blessed, and I do my best. Now, Collin, tell me, what kind of training have you had before?”

They only had forty-five minutes before it was time to get ready for the office. Mr. Moreau left Collin and Nihal together and went to do his own routine. At the end, Collin ached and was covered in sweat. “I feel tighter now than when I started, Nihal,” he said.

Nihal clapped him on the back. “Day one, my friend. Day one. I see you Friday.”

Collin finished his normal two hours of Chinese still feeling the morning exercises.

He left Ash updating buttons with Zhou Laoshi and forced himself to walk without limping into his Master’s inner office.

Damian was there. His phone was on speaker, and he and Mr. Reevesworth were both listening intently.

Damian motioned Collin in and gestured for him to close the door.

“Thank you for that,” Mr. Reevesworth said to whoever was speaking on the phone. “Of course, we have nothing to hide. If they need to investigate, they can. We’ll be here.”

They said their goodbyes. Damian turned off the phone and put it back in his pocket.

Collin pulled off his coat. It was warmer in here than the conference room where he took Chinese lessons. “What was that?”

“Someone has made a complaint to the Securities and Exchange Commission.” Damian pressed his lips together. “They’re accusing Mr. Reevesworth of insider trading.”

“They can look all they like.” Mr. Reevesworth moved things on his desk. “We knew this could happen.”

“I don’t understand.” Collin looked to Damian. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s inconvenient.” Damian shoved his hands in his pockets. “We haven’t done anything illegal.”

“It’s not insider trading if we were public about our comments.” Mr. Reevesworth smiled, showing his teeth. “We’ve totally manipulated the markets, but we’ve done it with the truth, and we’ve done it publicly. So, no, it’s a matter of who has friends in higher places.”

Collin swallowed back a knee-jerk retort that it was a matter of who was in the right. With friends in the right places, it didn’t matter who was obeying the law. It only mattered who wanted to tie things up in legal proceedings.

“How high are your friends, sir?”

“We’ll find out. But even if they’re not high enough, we’ll still win in court.”

Damian groaned. “I’m glad you think so highly of your lawyers, sir.”

Mr. Reevesworth chuckled, but it sounded more like a growl. “Go make trouble for them, Pup.”

“Yes, sir.” Damian grabbed his briefcase. He paused at the door and looked back. “Just so you know, when this is over, I want a vacation.”

“You’ll have it.” Mr. Reevesworth smiled, and this time, it was an actual smile. “I got you, boy.”

Damian nodded. He paused one more time as he turned to go. “Collin. You. Me. Ash. Indian food tonight?”

Collin looked to his master. Mr. Reevesworth nodded.

“Sounds great. Have you asked Ash already?”

“No, I’m doing it on my way out.”

Thursday, Collin got out of bed with groan. Mr. Moreau chuckled and squeezed Collin’s rear as he passed him.

“Sir!” Collin glared after his smirking dom.

“Feeling it, boy?”

“Yes, sir. Why am I tighter today than I was yesterday?”

“I think you know the answer.”

Collin whimpered. “Maybe. I think his name is Nihal. Or possibly émeric Moreau.”

Mr. Reevesworth came out of the closet grinning. “I could add a name to that list, boy.”

“Nope.” Collin hurried toward the bathroom. “No, sir! Not when Zhou Laoshi is going to melt my brain with Chinese in less than an hour.”

“See how well we look after our boy,” Mr. Moreau said to his husband. “Think we’ve hit on just the right amount of complaining?”

“Almost.”

There were sounds of kissing, but Collin jumped into the shower so he couldn’t hear the rest.

In Mr. Reevesworth’s office right before lunch, Damian was on his phone again. Collin and Mr. Reevesworth were on his computer, searching for a missing file.

Damian turned the screen of his phone off. “Sir.”

Mr. Reevesworth and Collin looked up together.

“It’s confirmed. Dana Reevesworth was conceived posthumously. She is the genetic direct child of your uncle, but he could not have had a hand in conceiving her directly.”

“Well,” Mr. Reevesworth leaned back in this chair and pressed the ends of his fingers together, “he didn’t have any will and testament or posthumous order asking for a child, and his heir and attorneys and executors didn’t give permission.

So, she’s either a clone or his sperm was taken against his will. He didn’t give his body to science.”

Damian grimaced. “Pearson’s team is going through anyone who is recorded as being near the body or his person at the end of life. And Dana is not a clone.”

“Who’s Dana’s mother again?”

“Priscilla Kennington. British national. Late thirties.”

Mr. Reevesworth frowned. “Did she ever go by a different name? What’s her middle name? Do you have a picture?”

“Nothing recent.” Damian pulled out his tablet and started opening files and subfiles. “This is the most recent we have. Her driver’s license six years ago. She doesn’t have social media. Paulsen hasn’t been to find her. She hasn’t lived at her voting address in at least six months.”

Mr. Reevesworth took Damian’s tablet and gazed at the photo. “Any previous names?”